L Falls Ill
by Nemu-saa
Summary: L is working what ought to be a simple case but, for some reason, the solution isn’t coming to him. Could it be that he’s…? No, how ridiculous. Under the weather, perhaps. A little. Pre-series, Clean, NO slash! Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** L Falls Ill

**Rated: **K+

**Summary: **L is working what ought to be a simple case but, for some reason, the solution isn't coming to him. Could it be that he's…? No, how ridiculous. Under the weather, perhaps. A little. Preseries, Clean, NO slash! Enjoy!

**Timeframe: **Pre-series: About two years before the Kira case.

**Dedication:** For Oneesan, for getting me into anime, buying me "L: Change the World", and (on top of that) being the totally awesome big-sister that she is. :D Watashi no Nee-san wa daisuki desu! Arigato!

**Feedback: **Feedback? For me? Golly, I don't know what to say... that's just too sweet! Yes, I take feedback of all kinds: sparkly praise, grave criticism, and those flames you roast hotdogs on! Actually, I've never gotten those, so if you're in a flaming mood, go right ahead! ;)

* * *

One, two, three, four, five…

How long had it been? About twenty minutes since he'd last thrown up?

Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen… sixteen across.

He was definitely getting the urge again.

One, two, three, four, five, six, sev -

L sat (mostly) upright, leaned over the porcelain toilet bowl, and vomited twice. He then dropped back on the floor and resumed counting.

Eight, nine, ten…

This was bound to stop eventually; he'd refrained from eating anything for the past… hour perhaps? Well, closer to half an hour. This case required a fair amount of brain-food.

Twenty - one, twenty-two, twenty-three down.

Three hundred sixty-eight tiles on the bathroom ceiling. That was odd, since he'd counted four hundred eighty-two on the floor. What was the size differential?

L sat up again and repeated the familiar process. For a moment, he hovered over the rank bowl with one hand gripping the edge, other on top of the cistern.

At any rate, the best thing he could do now was phone the installation crew and ask them why they'd put in two different types of tile when he'd chosen only one.

He slid down next to the toilet in thought.

Immediately following this phone call, he would return to Warehouse 57, the building Deputy Phelps had chosen as HQ for the Kongouseki case. After a great deal of reflection (at least the past five minutes) he'd come up with some vital information on the identity of -

"L?"

The mild voice carried from the apartment door, down the hall, and rattled off the bathroom walls. Only two people had access to this floor and one of them was L himself. But he knew in an instant who it was, anyway.

"L? Where are you?"

He glanced from the doorway to the toilet several times without moving his head. Then in on rapid, ungraceful movement he pinched the flush lever between his thumb and forefinger and pulled, jumped to his feet, wiped his face on a towel, shoved his hands in his jean pockets and strolled nonchalantly (stumbling only once) out of the bathroom.

His guest was already there, standing in the hall.

"Hello, Watari."

Watari smiled, his white mustache prickling with the movement. "Hello, L. It's good to see you." Then seeing L's ashen face, the smile suddenly vanished. "Are you well?"

"Actually, I'm in an abnormally pleasant state of health. Tea?" L turned a little too quickly toward the kitchen and Watari followed.

He paused in the doorway. "L… is there something you want to tell me?"

L didn't look at him.

He never withheld anything from Watari.

Ever. "I'm very well," he said mechanically.

Watari nodded, letting it go for now. "I'm glad to hear it. Though I am not as glad to hear of this case you're working on. No leads?"

"Several. I'm sorry to have bothered you." L lifted the tea pot down from atop bread box (or doughnut box, what-have-you) and dropped in a tea bag.

"You didn't. Deputy Phelps called me yesterday. I came on the red eye from Japan. What's troubling you?"

L paused but didn't answer. He filled the teapot from an instant-boiling-water tap in silence.

What was troubling was that he was _troubled_. Why would an ordinary case like this be so difficult?

Watari didn't speak again until he was sitting with his cup in the living room. L set his own on the side table, dropped a handful of sugar packets next to it and leapt up to crouch on the sofa.

"Why not begin by telling me the facts of the case?"

Yes that was always a safe place to start… always assuming he didn't retch halfway through…

L tore open three sugar packets and dumped the contents into his cup. "Thirty-eight hours ago, two middle-aged men held up Manhattan Depository Bank and stole eighteen hundred thousand USD worth of diamonds. Six hours and seventeen minutes later the bank manager, Gordon Wellington, was shot to death in in his home. He is believed to have orchestrated the heist." He split open four more packets.

"Is that all?"

"Not quite, the diamonds were apparently laundered through an unknown source and the currency is being wired from an untraceable account somewhere in the states, to Algeria. Deputy Phelps believes that one of the perpetrators murdered Wellington and fled the country. He thinks the second is still in the US handling the transfer."

"And… what do _you _think?"

"Hm? Oh, I'm sure he's correct." L twirled his finger in the cup, mixing the twelve packets worth of sugar with the half cup of tea. "I've discovered the identity of the man who shot Wellington. He is a hirable thief by the name of Joseph Callahan, he's taken jobs of this sort all over the nation including the Rostov Kidnapping case in Wyoming."

"The last I heard, the Rostov case was still unsolved."

L went on without answering and Watari allowed himself a proud smile. "Callahan was one of the men who held up Manhattan Depository. I don't know the identity of the other but he is likely the one transferring currency out of the country."

"Then, if I may repeat myself," he leaned forward, lacing his fingers. "What is troubling you?"

L took his time before answering. He drank the tea in miniscule sips, trying not to let too much into his roiling insides while at the same time, keeping Watari from catching on.

"Wellington wasn't in charge of the heist," he said slowly. "The bank's video tape _was _stolen, however not by him. He was also responsible for alerting the police to the situation while the criminals were still inside."

"I see." Watari leaned back in his chair, gazing into the teepee of his fingers. "Who stole the video tape, then?"

"Mm, that I don't know. Though the fact that it was stolen before the two men entered the building suggests one of the security guards on duty at the time."

"When do you return to police headquarters?"

L looked at him. "You intend to join the case?"

"I am here as long as you can use my help. I enjoy the occasional vacation, too, you know."

L considered that, then took another small drink of tea as a show of thanks. "Very well, they are headquartered at Warehouse district C in Manhattan, number 57. I'll meet you there in forty minutes."

Watari nodded and stood up. "Forty minutes," he repeated, then smiled. "It is… truly good to see you, L."

He turned, walked back to the hall, and reset the door censor. It slid noiselessly shut behind him.

L returned to the bathroom.

L L L L L

In a matter of two days, Deputy Howard Phelps had transformed Warehouse 57 into a makeshift, but functioning command center. Most of the man power assigned to the case were rookies and bored phone-sitters.  
All the same, Kai Tasaki was impressed with the constant flurry of motion and excitement. Kai had been in the evidence basement for too long; he was dying for some real action.

The Kongouseki case wasn't… exactly action, but it did involve a murder! That was something. Though it just figured that he would wind up on a case with a strange, unorthodox (and in Kai's opinion, not altogether stable) twenty-two-year-old detective half-in-charge.

But whatever. It was still better than sifting through dusty piles of other people's junk, that was for sure.

"Tasaki! Bring me the file on Gomez!"

"Yes, Sir! Right away, Sir." Kai ran to his desk (a card table in the corner) and scooped up a pile yellow folders. He flipped through them hastily, congratulating himself again on how good his English had become.  
He'd only been a United States resident for four years, yet he could speak without an accent, and he'd picked up all the slang and lingo necessary to hobnob at office parties and laugh at American sitcoms.

But Deputy Phelps wasn't impressed by that. He was concerned only with how fast Kai could hand him folders and bring him coffee. Phelps intended to solve this case. Now. By himself, if need be. Superman. Wacko.

"Here it is, Sir."

Phelps took the folder without looking at him. "Latte. Decaf."

"Yes, Sir."

"And Tasaki?"

He whirled back. "Yes, Sir?"

"This is the police, not the National Guard. You don't have to 'sir' me all the time."

Okay, a wacko… but apparently not without his human side. Kai almost grinned. "Understood."

He was halfway to the coffee maker when he nearly slammed into Gene Christophe, the forensics guy assigned to the case.

"Whoa, dude, put some brakes on," he said good-naturedly. "Hey, the kid's back, by the way."

"Where?" Kai turned in time to see the ware house door open, letting a blast of sunlight. A minute later the door closed, bringing the high-ceilinged room back to normal lighting and revealing an oddly shaped figure followed by an old, white-haired man.

That was him, alright; the weirdest detective Kai had ever seen. Jeans pooling on bare feet, overlong-sleeved, white t-shirt (did he _own _anything else?) and an insane mass of black hair framing his sunken-eyed, pale face.  
He looked dead. In fact, today in particular, he had an air of post-mortem about him which made Kai want to throw a book at his head and see if it went all the way through.

He walked practically doubled over, hands constantly either in his pockets or shoving junk food in his mouth and he always spoke as though discussing the weather, even when describing the gory details of a murder.

But he was brilliant. That's what Phelps said, and who was Kai, the evidence-basement-dweller to argue?

L, the only name he gave, slouched over to Phelps' desk chair and hopped up on it, hands on knees.

"I trust you received my information regarding Callahan.

"I did. We also found the owner of the diamonds. His name is Peter Gomez, but we can't seem to track him down. It's defiantly his name on the deposit form, though."

"I see." L pushed a hand against the desk, spinning his chair. "When did he make the deposit?"

"Several weeks ago. Let's see…" he flipped through the folder Kai had given him. "May eleventh. Then he tried to withdraw it last Friday, two days before the heist."

L stopped spinning rather abruptly and blinked hard at the floor. Then he looked back up. "Tried."

"Yeah, apparently his withdrawal form was rejected by the bank manager. That seems to point to Gomez as our killer."

"Perhaps." L chewed the nail of his forefinger for a while. "Gomez and Callahan hold up the bank together to retrieve Gomez's property, Callahan shoots Wellington and flees the country… Gomez launders the diamonds and sends the money to Callahan… they rendezvous in Algeria."

"That's my theory." Phelps crossed his arms. "We're making progress on tracing the account in America, but we're having communication problems with the Algerian Banking Institute. It'll help when we finally get the forensics report from Wellington's house. "

"However…" L continued on his own thought line. "Why would Gomez go to such lengths to retrieve what rightfully belongs to him?"

"Maybe the diamonds were stolen in the first place."

L looked up at him. "Very well deduced, Deputy Phelps." Nothing in his face gave away that he'd already known that. Watari only smiled. "But that brings us to Gordon Wellington. Why murder him if he didn't organize the theft?"

"If he didn't - wait a minute…"

"Furthermore, why would Callahan be the one to kill him? Gomez has a motivation."

"Hold on, how do you _know _Callah -"

"I believe you forensics report will show evidence of that."

Phelps's frustration turned to confusion and he glanced at Gene Christophe.

"Well -" Gene hesitated. "…L, we haven't _gotten _the forensics report back yet. Uh… I thought - didn't Deputy Phelps say that just now? "

There was an overlong pause.

L's finger was sliding away from his mouth. "Turn on the cameras, then," he muttered.

"What?"

"L?" Watari leaned over his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

L's head shot up. "I have a file on Callahan in the car," he said to Phelps, climbing (rather than hopping) off the desk chair. "I'll bring it to you."

"I can do that," said Watari.

"Certainly not, I'd like Deputy Phelps to show you the video feed leading up to the robbery." L made his way, swaying slightly, toward the warehouse door.

"He's a strange kid, isn't he?" Phelps said when he was out of earshot. "You're his legal guardian, right?"

Watari didn't answer.

His gaze didn't leave L till the rusted door was closed behind him.

L L L L L

_TBC_


	2. Chapter 2

Here's part 2. Thanks so much to everyone who's favorited and reviewed this! :D

* * *

L L L L L

It was very cold. Exactly three seventeen pm… on a Monday. Very cold for June. On a Thursday. The drumbeat in his head grew in volume but no longer followed any particular rhythm.  
_"What's troubling you?"_  
He was behind the car but the car was supposed to be in him - that is, he needed to be in the car. Yes. Three seventeen. Gravel bit into his bare feet. Very, very cold.

He was tipping…

L slammed both hands onto the ground, wobbling slightly. From where he sat, crouched behind Watari's car, all he could see was the kaleidoscope of warehouses and dry grass.

Sweat hot-glued black hair to his forehead, yet he shivered with cold.

_"Is there something you want to tell me?"_

There was nothing left to vomit but his muscles seized in denial of the fact.  
_Sixteen across, twenty three down. _  
He couldn't think. How could that be? When he couldn't do anything else, he could always think. But his thoughts were just more blobby warehouses and popping blue lights.

Pieces of old cases and cases that had never been, jumbled in with nonsense and odd colors.

Three hundred sixty eight. That was strange.

L shook himself. This was entirely unnecessary. Absurd. He'd come out here for the file. The file in the folder, which was in the car.

_In._ Inside. The roof door on the train, that was how Kurts got in. _Sixteen across_… No, not Kurts - Callahan? _"I'm very well." _And the diamonds. He took those because Julian Rostov was -

L scraped ten fingers through his forest of wet hair, blinking hard twice. They were waiting for him and soon, they (Watari, of course) would come looking. He pulled himself up with a hand on the car bumper, swallowed the vertigo, and lurched to the driver's side door.

Under the weather. That's how one might describe this. It would pass.

_Pass…_

L L L L L

"Interesting."

"Interesting, sure, but not very helpful," Phelps grumbled.

Watari paced in front of the TV monitor thoughtfully. The display showed gray snow, then flipped back to the beginning of the feed. A teller assisted a young women at the counter. An older, very clean-cut man (Wellington) strode to filing cabinet, rifled through it, and returned to his desk. Then the screen went black and the snow returned.

"And you're certain the remainder of the tape was stolen, not simply destroyed?"

"Well -" Phelps paused the tape. "I suppose it could've been destroyed afterwards, but initially, yeah. It was stolen. The security guard said he got a call from a pay phone and stepped outside to get a better signal. Then he got conked out. When he came to, the whole thing was over and the tape was gone.

"Exactly what time was the call made?" L's voice came from a few feet behind them.

Watari turned. A concerned look snapped to his face before he could stop it so he compensated by not _commenting _on L's thoroughly bleach-white complexion.

"Ah, let's see," Phelps said, thumbing through another folder. "Exactly five thirty-seven pm. As you know, the two men entered the bank at five forty-five pm, so one of them presumably could have both made the call and knocked the guard out before setting foot inside the building."

L didn't answer for minute. He walked toward the snowy screens as if he could see the missing feed playing.

"Wellington was not in charge of the heist. But he hired Callahan to steal the diamonds."

"Okay," Phelps whirled on him. "Where do you get that?"

L continued to stare at the screens. "But Gomez offered him a better deal… so Callahan helped him hold up the bank and later shot Wellington on Gomez's orders."

"Where's your proof?"

"It _would _make sense, Chief," said Gene, coming over. "Why else would Wellington refuse to release the diamonds? Maybe he was keeping them there because he was going have'em stolen!"

"I could be wrong," L mused. "Mm… but that would be very odd."

"If it's true," said Phelps. "And I'm not saying it is… but - if so, we should put priority on finding Gomez."

"Yes, he is likely the one who stole the tape," L agreed. "Though, he wasn't one of the men who held up the bank."

"Wait, you lost me again. Gomez hired Callahan _and _someone _else _to steal the diamonds?"

"Indeed. Gomez then bought the diamonds back from them, which is how they were able to collect and leave the country so quickly. However, one question remains. Who…is -"

L collapsed.

His left knee gave before the right; he narrowly missed striking his head on the sharp corner of the TV table.

Watari got to him first, hauling him part way up by his shoulders.

"L, what's wrong? L!"

"…partner would have to be a previous acquaintance…" L was mumbling, trailing off until his lips were moving soundlessly. Then he lost consciousness.

Watari shook him once uselessly, and then felt his sweat-damp forehead. He pulled his hand back reflexively. The boy was on fire.

Phelps was speaking in a loud, commanding voice. "Christophe, call Manhattan Gen, then tell Hartley to bring the SUV to the front."

"Will do." Gene nodded and took off with his cell phone in hand.

"What's wrong with him?" Kai asked, hanging back.

"He's ill." Watari slipped one arm around L's back, the other beneath his knees. Then, without any apparent difficulty, he picked the boy up firmly and started towards the exit door.

Phelps' mouth fell partway open. Kai positively gaped.

"Mr. Watari," Phelps protested, going after him. "Here, let me help -"

"I would appreciate it," Watari returned stiffly. "If you would open the door, Deputy Phelps."

"Uh - sure, of course."

Kai ran to the door instead and heaved it open. The elderly man walked past him and outside.

Gene was standing next to a dark blue SUV, holding the side door open. When he saw Watari of all people carrying L, the latter's limbs swinging like spaghetti noodles, he went slightly bug-eyed. He ran to the opposite side of the car and helped Watari lay L across the back bench.

"Is he -?" Gene looked across the car at Watari who was closing the door on his side.

"Would you be so kind as to take us to the hospital, Mr. Christophe?"

"Of course, yeah." Gene nodded hastily and climbed in behind the weal. A moment later, the SUV sped out of the warehouse parking lot.

Phelps and Kai watched it go from the doorway.

"I don't know which is the weird one anymore," said Kai, still slightly gaping. "He just… did you see that? He must be like - seventy years old! "

"I'm guessing," Phelps said pensively. "There's more to both of them than we figured." He came abruptly out of his thoughts and turned to Kai. "Espresso."

"Got it."

L L L L L

L was having a disagreement with his eyelids. Each time he pushed them open, they defiantly snapped shut as though magnetized to each other. How bothersome; it was very dark.

He remembered hearing voices a while ago. Strangers… except one.

His eyelids gave in at last and he blinked to bring Watari's face into focus. He was seated on and armchair a few feet away, reading silently.

L recognized that chair. This was his apartment. He himself was folded, knees up, at the corner of his couch.

Watari hadn't noticed he'd woken. For a moment, L considered faking. But too late, Watari heard his changed breathing pattern and looked up.

He smiled. L felt a pang of relief.

"L. How are you feeling?"

"Well," was all that came out.

"Good." Watari's face became serious. "Do you remember going to the hospital?"

L shifted, faintly aware of a thick afghan draped around his shoulders. "Distortedly."

"Doctor Geller informed me that you've had a flu virus, a rather serious one, for well over twelve days."

L locked eyes with the carpet. "Is that so? I was unaware…"

Watari let that slide. "He wished to keep you overnight. However, I informed him that you would be more comfortable here. Where you could get some sleep." He delicately stressed 'sleep' while closing his book.

"Yes, I intend to…"

"Good."

"…the moment the Kongouseki case is closed."

Watari stood up calmly and picked up a pile of folders, his book on top.

The case files. _All _the case files. "They'll manage," he said easily, an irksome twinkle in his eye. "I will be back to check on you tomorrow morning."

Without waiting for a response, he donned his hat and crossed to the door. A moment later, L was alone in the apartment.

Well then.

He lifted his laptop of the side table and balanced it on his knees. He'd memorized nearly everything in those files, anyway.

The laptop began a slow startup, humming gently. Just as the login menu appeared, his cell phone rang… from… somewhere. Ah, in the couch, of course.

L fumbled beneath the cushions, found the phone, pressed 'talk', and dangled it by its top corners next to his ear. "Hello there."

"Hey, L! It's Gene from the task force. Listen, we found Gomez in a hotel outside Manhattan." Gene paused. "He's dead, man. Someone shot him in the chest before we got there. But that's not all, we found the bank security tape at his apartment! I had a copy sent to you a little while ago. You were right! The second guy is defiantly _not _Gomez."

"I see."

"But it doesn't fit! We're still getting a trace on the currency wire. If Gomez and Wellington are dead and the other two left the country, who's transferring the money and who killed Gomez? Is there _another _guy in on this?"

"No, it's more likely that Callahan's partner is still in the country."

"Still in… Ah, dude! That would make total sense!"

"I'm glad you think so."

"And if we can just identify the guy on that tape…" Gene got excited. "Alright, I'm going to talk to the Phelps - he sent Kai Tasaki to evidence with the tape but maybe I can get it and run it through the face recognition software for known - well, here, I'll just call you when something turns up."

"I would appreciate it. Thank you for all your hard work."

L ended the call and set the phone down between the couch cushions again. The battery was nearly dead.

There was an obvious answer, but… why couldn't he think? This ought to be an fairly simple case; a little time, a little logical deduction, thirty pounds worth of snack cakes...simple.

It was time to solve this case.

L put the laptop back on the side table, stood up….and abruptly sat back down. The room spun madly. Perhaps solving the case could wait just a few minutes.

L L L L L

Home, sweet home. Kai sighed moodily. He'd finally gotten out of the evidence dungeon, and what did Phelps do? Sent him right back.  
Ah, well, as soon as he'd filed this tape he would return directly to Warehouse 57. No way he was gonna miss the ending to this case.

He tapped the tape against his palm as he strolled through the rows of gorilla racks. Where did the temp put the Kongouseki evidence?

He stopped in front of a shelf next a big tan filing cabinet. The red masking tape said _Kongouseki _in black sharpie.

"Bingo." Kai set the tape down and glanced at the filing cabinet. The bottom drawer was open. Gene said he'd been down here earlier, getting L's address in order to send the tape copy. He must have left it open "Sheesh…"

He bent down to close it - and froze.

Kai was no field agent, but he was fairly certain that he knew a gun when he felt one. The barrel was pressed between his shoulder blades, sharp and petrifying.

Well… he'd found Callahan's partner.

L L L L L

The clock was loud and annoying, so L had removed it from the wall and stuck it in the breadbox. Only now, the refridgerator was humming too loudly. So he put the clock in the refridgerator and returned to the couch. Much better.

It was time to go through this point by point again:

1. Gomez stole the diamonds and deposited them for safe keeping until he could get a flight out of the country.

2. Wellington found out that the diamonds were stolen and threatened Gomez that he would going to the authorities if Gomez withdrew them. Reason? Wellington had already hired Callahan and his partner to steal them on his behalf.

3. Gomez offered Callahan-and-partner a better deal and even took the security tape for them. However, he apparently let the feed record, getting the whole robbery on tape… why not just stop the recording?  
Furthermore, why would Gomez keep the tape? Simple: blackmail. That's why Callahan's partner shot him. In addition to having a loose end out of the way, the two would have a larger share of the money.

4. Callahan's partner was still in the country. But who was he?

L ran through a mental list of criminals he'd come up against over the years. Brian Forster, Martin Haze, Toru Ishibashi, Rodney O'Mally, Ronald McDon…ald. Wait…

No.

L L L L L

"Deputy Phelps!"

Phelps was glaring over the techie's shoulder at a computer screen and didn't look up. "Christophe, I'm about to get a trace on the wire in Algeria, this had better be important."

"Cheif, it's Tasaki."

The edge in his voice caused Phelps turn around. Kai was leaning on Gene's shoulder to stand. A gash on his forehead oozed blood slowly.

"What the -"

"I found him down in evidence," Gene went on. "Someone stole the security tape from the heist and knocked him out."

"It's my fault, Sir," Kai said miserably. "He had a gun… I panicked, gave him the tape."

Phelps gritted his teeth.

Watari, who'd come to return L's case files, walked over to Kai. "Did you see who hit you?"

"No… he was behind me the whole time, but I'm sure it was Callahan's partner."

"Right," Phelps pulled out his phone. "I'll call the station and tell them to send -"

"Sir, there's more." Kai let go of Gene. "He asked me if that tape was the only one… I told him - about the copy Gene sent to L… and I - I," Kai stammered, looking at his shoes. "…I gave him L's info-file."

"_What?_" Phelps and Gene stared at him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know what to do!"

Watari's face froze.

That file contained L's current address.

* * *

_TBC..._


	3. Chapter 3

Here's the last bit. Thanks again to everyone who reviewed and favorited! You guys are the best. :D

* * *

L L L L L

It was a shame to resort to his laptop for names. The point of having a brain was to make the laptop obsolete. But right now, his laptop was working better than his brain. How irritating.

L flicked languidly down a list of profiles with the tip of his finger. What time was it? Eleven eleven… his favorite time of day. There it was.

L stopped scrolling leaned the screen closer. Ramon Kurts. He was Callahan's partner. Of course, the Shinkansen Highjacking in Takayama not fourteen months ago! L had personally worked that case.

Everyone in the group was arrested, including Callahan. But Kurts, the mastermind behind it all, had been more careful about covering his tracks and gotten away clean. He'd never resurfaced, presumably because he was cautious and _never _left a loose end -

- behind.

_Is there something you want to tell me? _  
_- Two days before the heist….Sixteen down, twenty-three across. _  
_It is truly good to see you, L… Callahan's partner is still in the country…_  
_had a flu virus - well over twelve days …Three hundred sixty-eight tiles. What's troubling you?_  
_…recorded the entire robbery. Who killed Gomez? _  
_It is more likely that Callahan's partner is still in the country. _  
_I'll be back to check on you in the morning - keeping the tape for black mail._  
_The battery is dead…something you want to tell me? - had a copy sent to you…_

_…a copy sent to you..._

Someone was outside L's door.

L L L L L

Call Failed.

Watari closed his cell phone tensely.

"No luck?" Gene asked without taking his eyes off the road. The were following closely behind Phelps' Cadillac which contained Phelps and two junior officers, all armed.

"His phone seems to be off," said Watari. "How far is it?"

"The Sanfroise apartment building's about thirty minutes from district C, but by the way the chief's driving, I'm betting we'll cut that in half."

Gene was trying to sound encouraging, but Watari remained uneasy.

It might not be enough.

L L L L L

The alarm button in the hallway. The gun in the bedroom. The phone on the kitchen wall.

From what he knew of Kurts, the alarm was likely disabled, the phone line cut… that left the gun. The gun L had never used. Yes… that one.

But a second later, it hardly mattered. There was a muted bang outside the door; the sound of a perfectly good keypad being blown to pieces. No more time.

L jumped off the couch and stumbled into the kitchen. The circuit breaker was located in the broom closet. The only thing he could do now was buy himself some time, which basically meant hiding.

He flicked all the circuit switches down.

The lights, the humming refrigerator, and everything else snapped off, just as the metallic apartment door slid open.

Footsteps in the hall.

The sound of Kurts' laugh cracked through the silence. "Really, kid? The lights? Trying to fool me into thinking you're not home, I guess. That's pretty hilarious…"

He started walking down the hallway.

L was crouching low behind the bar, feeling around on the countertop. His fingers found the handle of the sterling silver pie-server. That would work.

There was a faint scrape of metal against Corian as he lifted it down. L ran a fingertip across metal triangle's serrated edge. Well, it was better than a spoon, anyway.  
Kurts was between him and the bedroom. Until that changed, there was no chance of getting the gun… nor was there a guarantee that he could use it.

L could feel his head spinning again and his stomach somersaulted with every movement. He felt around on the counter some more.

"You know," Kurts' heavy voice called. He'd moved to the living room. "I remember you from Takayama… the bullet train job? Yeah, you were that weirdo-detective who put all my boys in jail." He laughed. "That was pretty good! But see, now… you're in _my _way. So you might want to quit messing around before -"

Ah, a glass sugar bowl. L pinched the rim and lobbed it over the counter at the opposite wall. It shattered loudly.

Acting on the momentary distraction, he made a dash for the hallway.

But as he came around the corner of the bar, an arm suddenly hurled across his shoulders and slammed him back down. The forearm pressed against his throat and he felt a warm gun barrel jam into his temple.

"Seriously, with the throw-something-at-the-wall-to-distract'em gimmick? You really are a funny kid!" Kurts chuckled next to his ear. "Look, I could just kill you now and take the tape, no skin off my nose. But - I'm low on time, plus your police buddies will have to clean up _another _body and… wouldn't you rather just give it to me?"

L struggled to keep from blacking out. The constriction on his windpipe did nothing to help his current physical condition.

"Tell you what, you have till "three" to tell me, okay? One…" Kurts shifted the gun under his jaw. "_Two _…"

Oh, wait. The tiles on the _floor _were leftover from the kitchen, but the _ceiling _tiles were bought separately. _That's _why they were bigger. L drove the pie-server's edge down Kurts' forearm.

The serrated edging cut clean and deep. Kurts howled, more out of rage than pain. But his grip went slack and L twisted free.

He started to stand but the floor swayed and he fell on hands and knees. Well, he could work with that. He crawled toward the entry hall.

Kurts recovered himself quickly and made a grab at L's foot.

L kicked him. Without really trying, he hit the gash on Kurts' arm, producing an unpleasant snarling noise.

It was a fortunate move but the world was still gyrating wildly and everything in him demanded collapse. On adrenaline alone, L stumbled to his feet one last time and lunged for the bedroom doorway.

At the same moment, Kurts shot to his feet, raising the gun. "Idiot."

He fired.

L L L L L

It took both of the junior officers and Phelps to kick down L's sophisticated metal door and the noise nearly drowned out the gun shot.  
Light from the outer hall flooded the apartment entryway. The three rushed in, Gene and Watari close behind.

"NYPD!" Phelps bellowed. "Drop your weapon, get down on your knees!"

Kurts spun and fired again, singeing the right-side officer's sleeve.

Phelps leapt over the wrecked door and let off a clean shot through Kurts' shoulder, knocking him against the wall.

He slid down to the floor, painting a red streak on the now cracked plaster. The gun clattered to the floor and the second officer snatched it up.

Watari pushed past Gene into the entry way. There was blood on the floor leading to the bedroom.

"Mr. Watari -" Gene said but didn't stop him.

Watari ran to the bedroom doorway and stopped. L was lying flat on his back, panting and clutching a blood-coated pie-server.

Alive.

Watari sighed and dropped down next to him.

"He's okay!" Gene shouted from behind.

"Ramon Kurts," Phelps growled, clapping the handcuffs on. "You're under arrest for the robbery of Manhattan Depository, the murder of Peter Gomez, and the attempted murder of a civilian."

Kurts just laughed through gritted teeth. "Yeah, sorry about that. I'll get him next time."

"Yeah, well your 'next time' is going come somewhere around twenty years after your dead. Move it." He yanked him upright as the first officer began rattling off Miranda.

Watari helped L sit partway up, one arm around his shoulders. With his other hand, he eased the pie-server away. "L, are you hurt? What happened?

L looked up at him and considered. He was still breathing hard. "Well… I have significantly narrowed down the suspect list."

Watari blinked - then smiled wryly. "I'm glad you're feeling better."

"I am, yes, thank you. Although, Watari - I have something I want to… "

"What is it?"

He held a hand next to his mouth and whispered. "I believe I may have fallen Ill." Then suddenly, his head lulled against Watari's arm and he passed out.

Watari only smiled and nodded once. "Thank you for telling me."

* * *

L L L L L THE END L L L L L

* * *

Yonde kurete arigatou!

Mate-ne!


End file.
